Chapter 44
Hunter
She does exactly what he tells her to.
Willow moves from the kitchen to the couch on autopilot.
She sinks into the couch and clutches the soft pillow Carson bought her to her chest. She curls her legs up beneath her, tucking herself into the corner of the couch—tiny, guarded, her peaches-and-cream perfume dimmed beneath something… heavier.
Disappointment.
I feel it before I smell it. That slight sag in her shoulders. The way her eyes flick toward Graham’s back, then away.
I glance at Carson, who’s sprawled out beside her, his arms stretched along the back of the cushions, deceptively relaxed. But I see the tension in his jaw. He felt it too. Saw it all unfold in the kitchen, same as me. He could’ve stopped it. Hell, I could’ve too.
But we didn’t.
Because the second she asked ‘What if I said yes?’ we both froze. And when Graham didn’t take it further—when he stepped back, all tense and too-controlled—we knew why.
Graham's been through hell. So have I. But where I shut down, he locks it in with steel walls and rules and rigid control. Carson calls it Graham’s “alpha grip”—the tighter things get, the harder he holds on.
I clench my fists, restless energy building under my skin.
“Peaches,” Carson says softly beside her, shifting toward her, and I know he’s going to try to tease her out of it, but she doesn’t look up. Just hugs the pillow tighter and closes her eyes.
That fucking pillow.
I scrub a hand over my face and push off the armchair, pacing toward the hallway just to move.
To breathe. I can’t sit here, smell that disappointed, lonely ache rolling off her in waves.
Not when I just kissed her in front of Landon pretending she was mine to protect.
Not when I felt her melt against me as though I was the only one she trusted to catch her.
We’re losing her. One hesitation at a time. And the worst part is, I think she’s trying to figure out how to let herself be caught. And none of us have stepped up to be the one to really hold on.
Carson shifts again behind me. I glance back, see him gently brushing a strand of hair out of her face, whispering something low I can’t hear. But her scent shifts slightly. Less disappointment now. Something softer.
Still not right.
Still not how she should be feeling.
I head for the kitchen, drying off the plate she left behind. Graham joins me silently, drying his hands on a towel, his movements clipped.
“She’s hurting,” I mutter under my breath.
His jaw ticks. “I know.”
“Why didn’t you take it further?”
“I couldn’t,” he says. “Not like that. Not when I wanted to take too much. You know what I’m like, what I need.”
I nod slowly, biting down the part of me that agrees. Because I would’ve. And it might’ve ruined everything.
“She offered,” I say anyway, just to test him. “She wanted you.”
He closes his eyes for a second like he’s trying not to feel that too deeply. “I know.”
And we both know that not acting—again—might have hurt more than if he had.
I glance back toward the couch, toward the girl who’s slowly undoing all of us, one breath, one look, one whispered offer at a time. She doesn’t even realize it. Or maybe she does, and that’s what makes it worse.
We’re still fumbling in the dark, pretending we aren’t already hers.
“She’s been hurt before, Graham,” I say quietly. “We can’t be another wound she has to heal from.”
“I know,” he says again, but his tone has shifted. It’s quieter now. Heavier.
“So you need to make this right.”
His jaw flexes as he drags his gaze toward the couch.
Willow’s curled into herself, the pillow Carson bought her tucked tightly against her chest still, her knees drawn up in an attempt to fold into the smallest version of herself.
She’s retreating, not because she’s fragile, but because she’s disappointed.
Disappointed in us.
Carson’s murmuring something to her, voice low and even, and though she won’t look our way, I see it the moment it happens, the faint pull at the corners of her lips. A smile trying to happen, despite everything.
And then Carson stands.
“We’re going for ice cream,” he announces, throwing a pointed glance our way, “and you’re not invited.”
Willow blinks up at him. There’s a flicker of hesitation before her fingers slide into his. He leads her to the door and kneels to put on her shoes, slipping them on with practiced ease as though he’s done it a hundred times before.
The moment is so tender it knots something in my chest. Then the door opens, and they’re gone. The silence that follows sucks all the breathable air from the room.
I clear my throat, cutting through it. “Guess Carson’s got it covered.”
“Fixing my screw ups. That’s new.” Graham’s voice is dry, but there’s something self-aware beneath it. Something raw.
I shake my head. “I don’t think this fixes it.”
He glances at me.
“You still need to make it right. When they come back—you need to tell her what you didn’t tonight. Or someone else is going to and we will miss our chance.”
Graham doesn’t argue. He just nods, once.
But I can tell by the way his hand flexes at his side that it’s going to haunt him until he does.